Many moons ago I found myself in a place where happiness didn’t exist. As a child, I had swollen hands from a belt. These were not the only marks. They were also placed up and down my legs and my backside. I always remember the hands. The hands put up in fear. The hands trying to block abuse. A writer unable to write because I couldn’t hold a pen. Yes, in the days before computers I was a writer. I put a pen to the blank notebook paper and created my own worlds. I escaped through words.
Come with me to Mamalode….and read the full story.